Dragora's Demons
by Arwen Ravenwood
Summary: "I know your house. A house built on bones. It is tradition, so I'm told, that each of the children born to the name Alvah, are thrown to endure a brutal and violent upbringing in some distant, foreign land. Learning to fight and survive and to become deadly, should they wish to return home, without aid. And all the while, you keep the bones of your first kill..."
1. Chapter 1

On a steed as black as night, Dragora stormed through the gates of kings landing with the guards shouting abuse behind her and the peasantry leaping to one side, with mothers grabbing for their children who got in the woman's way, for she would not stop. The streets were thin and led in many directions; she took many a wrong turn before making her way out from the mediocrity, to the rich brothels and stalls, where nobles would be seen wandering with coin and knights taking wine from a taverns tankard. At this point the Red Keep's imposing structure loomed directly overhead, casting shadow and she swung her body down from the horse and brought it to a trough to take its fill of water. Brushing a hand along its neck, the beast had not stopped running since Dragora chose to make the capital her destination, though it lay some miles from the inn she had inhabited. Luckily, the beast was used to its riders flare for spontaneous decisions and the journey, though hard, was taken in her stride.

"That a girl," Dragora lulled, "you've earnt it."

She gave it one last tap then strode away leaving the horse behind her, not fearing it would be stolen since it could take care of itself. Any hand to come her way and it would not remain intact. She had a dangerous air about her, all down to being highly influenced by her mistress, who now prowled the streets, wondering what to do next.

With her eyes darting in every which way, Dragora was gaining a sense for the shithole and the city her, for passer-by's would walk around this woman rather than expect her to extend the same curtesy, staring at her with disturbed curiosity.

The capital saw all manner of characters entering its walls but none so like she. Though the heat was thick from the beating sun, she wore the hard leather armour of someone ready to start a war. It screamed severity with the gold metal work crafted into bones, placed in precise locations, so that they would resemble where her own would be beneath. The rib cage, the spine, the collar and arms…

She was feral to last detail and though beautiful with that thick mane of hair hanging loose, there was something of lunacy clouding her eyes, which made citizens quiver, and the devious grin plastered on her face, stirred question of what vile thoughts were lingering in her mind.

Speaking aloud, her voice was surprisingly light, "What's the quickest way to get inside the Red Keep?"

Some overheard and were confused to whether or not she wanted them to answer, but she giggled, turning what may be a sweet sound to utterly unnerving and they wouldn't have wanted to answer, even if she had been talking to them. Besides, something caught her interest for she exclaimed and made her way towards some guards wearing Lannister colours.

Standing before them, her arms hung straight by her side and her body unshifting, though her head rolled around atop her neck, like her ears were catching the odd whisper and she moved for a closer hearing.

"Afternoon gentleman," she greeted not looking directly at them, only to the castle.

Under their helms their arrogant voices were hollowed, "Whatever you're selling, we ain't buying."

One did not agree.

He broke away from his companion and stood mere inches away from Dragora, inhaling her womanly scent and licking his lips, obviously thinking with his cock and liking what he saw.

"Speak for yourself. How much do you charge?" he laughed, assessing Dragora all over.

It was a shame how men were so, stupid.

Coyly, Dragora lowered her tone to a quiet hush, leaning in to the guard and without making contact, stroked a finger down the length of his body.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

With that said, Dragora's devious grin only widened and with impressive speed she began attacking the guard, making sure her first move knocked his helm to the ground and while he recovered, she made a grab for the helmet and used it to knock off the other his friend wore, as he approached in anger. Their soft flesh was too easy to cut and bruise and she struck quickly and with swift acuteness, hitting her mark where she needed, so that while one howled in pain, she could sort out the other, until blood poured and vision was impaired, making them admit defeat by crumbling to the dust, yowling in pain. It was a short fight without challenge. She somehow expected more, or perhaps it was foolish desire for want of a good fight, after traveling for so long.

Either way, she snorted and remembered there were witnesses to the brutality that just occurred and all of them were gazing at her in horror, screaming even and such behaviour was going to sound alarm and she was counting on that, relieved to see some gold cloaks march her way, with an older man in tow, pointing accusingly at her.

"What the fuck has happened here!"

Again the helms made it impossible for Dragora to give face to the men beneath the rather glamorous armour.

She lifted her arms in surrender, as two flanked her with shackles, "a minor squabble I can assure you."

The joke didn't sit well, and he ogled the two yowling men at Dragora's feet and snarled, "Trevor, Gordon, get up you fools!"

They tried and failed on some account, needing the support of walls or their bent knees to keep them upright.

"Jesus, look at the state of them" the gold cloak to her right remarked.

She nodded, "tis fine work for a Sunday morning, you're right there."

" _Shut up_ ," she was ordered and she smacked her lips tightly shut.

"Search her."

On command, the men who flanked her started tapping her down and she watched them, making one in particular very nervous with that queer look in her eyes and grin.

After inspection, they rose slowly and Dragora watched who she assumed was their leader, since he was the one throwing out commands.

"Sir Meryn" they started with caution, "she ain't got anything on her."

The civilian was still in their midst and he nodded quickly closing in on this Sir Meryn, "It's true Sir, she just used her hands."

He lifted his clenched fists as example and pointed to Dragora's whose weren't as clean as his own and were red from blood. Some of it hers, most of it theirs…

He continued, "Like a snake they were, striking with sharp fang and as you can tell, they left one nasty bite."

Meryn gained on the crippled men, whose faces could hardly be distinguished now that the swelling had started to set in and he crouched down to their level, grabbing one and squeezing their split cheeks, "You mean to tell me she did this unarmed?"

No one dared to admit, because in doing so it declared their guardsmen as weak to the public, although evidently, everyone knew.

Discarding their pain, Meryn threw down the lad he had in his grasp and spat, revolted by his pitiful shrieks, "Take her to the black cells, the queen will have to deal with her!"

Dragora beamed, while her captors tried to reclaim their authority by shoving her to the path that led to the legendary prison.

Everything was working according to plan…


	2. Chapter 2

Dragora was sprawled on the ground, with one leg crossed over the other and her foot bobbing up and down in waiting for when the door clanged open. When she had entered, the guards made use of finding their amusement with her situation, indicating to the single torch as her only source of light to chase the shadows away, but she was not like the average prisoner and had waltzed on over, lifting it from the fixture and dunked the flame straight into the bucket of piss beneath. She thrived in darkness, preferred it even, and laughed manically as she disappeared from their sight and they quickly sealed her in. This was not the first dungeon she had been thrown in and to her, they were all the same.

She couldn't say how long she had been there, the day wasn't spent at least and she heard footsteps in the corridor, striding her way. Dragora turned her head and sure enough the keys rattled in the lock and the thick wooden door creaked open. They daren't take a step inside. She was still concealed to them in the dark and word must have spread fast, just exactly what she was capable of.

"Come out, come out wherever you are" they called.

Dragora smiled.

 _'_ _So they wanted to play games…'_

Without much movement, and keeping her gaze locked on the Gold cloaks, she waited for when one of her cell mates scampered her way and with a sudden hand, she grasped the rat's coarse body as it squealed and bit into its neck. Blood started to pour and she launched the mutilated rodent towards them.

Their revulsion was quite clear to hear, "ah fuck! Get out here now you twisted bitch, or we'll come in there and drag you out!"

Dragora sighed and gradually rose from the ground and moved towards the slither of light the door let in, signalling to the rat twitching at their feet, slowly meeting its grim end, "boys, you spoiled my lunch."

Fully aware of the blood dripping down her chin and staining her teeth, she made a show of smirking causing them to all but gag.

"You try anything, and we'll run you through."

Dragora recognised the gold cloak to be that of Sir Meryn, the man who had arrested and been particularly angry with her down in the city and she couldn't resist pushing him further.

She raised her brows suggestively, "with what, sir Meryn?"

He didn't say anything, but she could imagine that right about now he probably wished to bestow upon her the same treatment she had showed Trevor and Gordon, the Lannister guards. Unfortunately for him, there didn't exist an outcome where he would be the victor. But it was amusing he thought himself capable of it.

Dragora lifted her hands to be bound, "shall we just get on with this?"

Cautiously, Sir Meryn jutted his chin towards her and his comrade approached with the shackles at the ready. Still feeling playful, she snapped her teeth at him, forcing him to back away from her and cackled, "come on boy, I won't do anything I swear. I'm as gentle as a lamb really; deep down…"

He looked dubious and with some effort, gathered the courage to quickly lock the irons into place, grab her shoulder and usher Dragora out the door, feeling more comfortable behind, rather than in front of her.

She's got them on their toes at least, she thought.

As they ascended from the dungeons, they passed a number of prisoners, their crimes varied from bad to worse, yet their pleas and cries of mercy were just the same. Most times the gold cloaks walked on without care, except when they suddenly felt nasty, in that case they would then bash the door of the odd cell and hiss for the occupant to be quiet.

It was a long walk to the throne room and as distance was covered, Dragora took notice in the Gold Cloaks mood becoming a lot more chipper, so when eventually when they did stand before the great doors, leading into the throne room, their aura was made something foul with uncharacteristic joy.

"You're in for it now whore," Meryn jeered.

Swaying the upper half of her body in on him, her feet deliberately unsteady, like she stood on a boat cast off at sea, Dragora was genuinely interested.

"Am I?" she asked, and Meryn pushed her back in place, while she squared her shoulders and stepped forwards, "Now that is exciting."

The Cloaks just looked at Dragora and probably for the thousandth time, regarded her peculiar persona, not knowing what to make of it. She displayed many signs of insanity, but had demonstrated to be quite calculative also. Such a dangerous woman and no amount of self-worth they tried to enforce on their part could deny the fact that they were the ones to carry fear, no matter how deep they tried to bury it.

Brimming with anticipation, she bade "Shall we make our entrance?" turning around to look at her captors.

"Move on," she was commanded, and making a queer sound she excitedly obliged.

The hall had many courtiers within it today, all of them dressed in their finery, their pure silks and delicate embroidery. The amount of colour was painful to take in and the noises they made like twittering birds, gave Dragora a headache. Did their words actually mean anything? Or was it just sound to fill the room.

Whenever Dragora went off track to take a closer look at one, as if they were the oddity, she was pulled by the neck back in line, until finally she stood before the iron throne, with some blonde perched on a stool beside it, with a skeleton at her shadow.

Dragora wasn't bothered by any of this, and she scrutinised the vast room like a child, swiftly spinning around on the heel of her foot and coming to a standstill, her expression changed, "Well, that is disappointing."

No one stirred at her verdict. They all remained silent, when their queen spoke through her clenched jaw.

"What is?"

Her voice echoed throughout the vast hall and Dragora followed it from wall to wall with her eyes.

"Well this room for one," she pointed out, curling her lip.

Questioning the validity in her words, everyone around beheld the cavernous size of the throne room with its high, narrow windows, as Dragora lifted one leg and lunged it forwards, with the guardsmen haunting her step.

"And I suppose that thing the king rests his ass on," her vulgarity actually earned a few gasps, and Dragora snorted at them, signalling back to the throne, "It's just, not that impressive, is it?"

The queen glanced at the monstrosity of iron throne with brief glimmer of desire and Dragora laughed hysterically. If she had learnt anything of kings landing thus far, it was that there seemed to be a lack of humour and understanding of sarcasm.

Bustling on the spot, the hunchback needed to work on his sincerity as he acted on behalf of his monarch, affronted by Dragora's crude behaviour, "How dare you, do you have any clue to who you are speaking!"

Dragora narrowed her gaze, "Pfft, I know it begins with a C, perhaps a U followed by an N, and…" she clicked her tongue making a sound that resembled a T, "No, I'm afraid I have nothing, so you're gonna have to tell me."

The old man flickered his gaze to the queen, waiting for her to do something, but she didn't, much to his and everybody else's surprise.

"This is her majesty, Queen Cersei- "

Dragora stopped the relic's rambling, snapping her fingers, "Lannister, Lannister, of course."

Raising her arm, Dragora pounded her head with each word she spoke, mocking the crime it was these days not to know the house of lions, "how, could, I, not, have, known," and by the end, the iron had cut her brow. But as always, she only smiled.

After a moment of staring at this madwoman, watching the blood trickle down her face, Cersei probed her, seeing if she would lie, like so many of the prisoners often do.

"You attacked, two of the royal guard."

Smugly, Dragora confessed, "I did," and when asked why she shrugged, "Let us blame boredom and chance, shall we."

Despite herself, Cersei could not help but smile, enjoying the change in character, when all so many paraded before her were pathetic. Whether they were nobles seeking to climb to greater heights, or peasantry trying to appeal to her better nature, when it did not exist.

"Tell me, are you truly that drunk or mad."

Inspecting her fingers, Dragora was used to this question, because it always came down to being one over the other, when that was not the case, "Personally," she started, spitting out a jagged piece of nail she had bit from her thumb, before moving on to the next, "I believe it's a bit of both."

"truly your grace," the doddering fool rambled, and he was very persistent in discarding Dragora like all the rest of the prisoners, "there is only one sure way to deal with the likes-"

"she beat them," Cersei announced, cutting off the Maester, "you saw the state of their faces same as myself and yet they are charged with keeping my family safe."

The queen tapped her fingers, "what is your name?

Intently, everyone perked up at that, listening to whatever it was the woman uttered passed her lips.

"Dragora; Dragora of house Alvah."

There was a sharp intake of breath at that, mouths dropping to the floor. Even the cold gold cloaks snapped their heads to the whore turned noble woman.

If Cersei Lannister had ever come close to laughing, it was at that point, and her feline eyes gleamed, "Maester Pycelle, it seems you have been speaking with a highborn Lady."

Red faced, the man tried to defend himself for all he was worth, but of course, as he kept reminding Dragora, he was speaking with a queen and her authority was absolute and she did rather enjoy it.

"Do you assume she has taken me a fool? You know the stories as well as I. A house built on bones. It is tradition, so I'm told, that each of the children born to the name Alvah, are thrown to endure a brutal and violent upbringing in some distant, foreign land. Learning to fight and survive and to become deadly, should they wish to return home, without aid. And all the while, you keep the bones of your first kill. Is any of that true?"

Dragora's gaze grew distant, disappointed slightly that the queen would ask, as it was an awfully vexing story when everyone knew it already, and all they had to do was look at her, "why do you think I drink, and why do you think I am mad?"

"What can we do for you Lady Dragora?"

Like offering a drug abuser their sweetest fix, Dragora's eyes widened eerily, and she revealed every tooth in her head, sparked with a new found excitement, after finding that the conversation had become unbearably dull. Every muscle moved and the next time she raised her arms, they were without their chains bound around her wrists, as they were pinched between her fingers. She angled her neck crookedly, examined them in mock astonishment and returned Cersei's glare.

"Entertain me."


	3. Chapter 3

The royal family was gone.

For reasons…Dragora hadn't cared to ask about.

So few were left in the Red Keep now.

But the numerous reasons for that were clearer, since well…Dragora sat the iron throne.

Though rather unconventionally.

Head spun to hang where the feet would rest, her legs were then splayed above where all those king's swords were molten to make a back rest, and she gazed with a deadened stare out at the empty hall.

Completely and utterly; bored.

But that didn't necessarily mean she was anxious for company.

"it amazes me, how the queen believed it wise to leave you in charge of the king's justice; I mean, there's hardly anyone populating the city."

Appearing from nowhere, and garbed in fine silks, Dragora made great show of inhaling the air, pretending like she hadn't heard that soft feminine voice, as she followed the scent and leaned right in between the person's legs, before looking up.

"lilacs…" she murmured and sniffed sharply again, "fuck Varys you smell like one of Littlefinger's whores."

The spider rolled his eyes and shoved her head back down with a clunk. In the early days he might have taken severe insult, and adjust himself from such vile behaviour, but now he takes it all in his stride, and barely even flinches at whatever Dragora does towards him.

"as always my lady, you are a _delight_."

Dragora sneered at the title and started fiddling with her thumbs, while her ankles crossed, making one of her mud crusted boots land near the eunuchs face, waiting for him to get to the point of the visit, as he backed away from her foot.

"I take it you haven't noticed then?" he asked.

Dragora continued with her vacant stare, having not consumed nearly as much wine yet to play games and tackle Varys with her own play on words. Besides, what she had learnt was that kings landing liked to do this merry dance even when it concerned basic matters, like when it was they had last taken a shit and such. Thus, after a while, the game loses all the fun when abused.

"noticed what?" she sighed.

At that, the sealed doors swung open and someone's wailing disturbed the silence as they were dragged into the hall by Lannister men, and behind came the courtiers who were too nosey, to be bothered by the fact that their queen was gone and left behind the mad woman to pretty much govern over them. This inspired some hope of entertainment for Dragora, since the nobles had gone out of their way to stay clear of her since the royals left for the north, but now they were pouring in before her like vultures.

Flipping to the right side up, Dragora cocked a leg up and rested her arm on it, flicking her fingers in the captive's direction, who was still wailing as she remarked on Varys's earlier comment about the rise in executions under her authority.

"oh look Varys!" Dragora exclaimed, as if she were a child given a new toy, "seems the pigs are in for another meal," and oinked.

The joke wasn't well received making the proud hens and cocks bustle their feathers, while Dragora cackled away manically.

She was getting carried away with herself, and although it wasn't for worrying over Dragora, since none could touch her due to the fear she instilled as a member of house Alvah, and questionable favour she had on the queen's half, Varys thought to try and coax her into a more suitable outlook on instilling the law, as the small council agreed was for the best, to save from the little risk there was of the small people revolting.

"Dragora," he encouraged, leaning down to her, "try to take this a little more seriously."

A couple of chuckles kept passing her lips, and she stared at Varys bemused, until something clicked in her head and she pointed at him, crying "Ah! That's why you're here. To keep me in check…"

Varys clenched his jaw in annoyance and rolled his eyes, while Dragora's eerie gold irises gleamed with pure mischief, as it was an unfortunate thing for her to have sussed out his reasoning for being with her, and to lure Dragora into acting a certain way, for now there were only two results where she would, on a good day, do as she is told, if in a very overdramatic and mocking manner; or do the complete opposite of what's been asked, if she doesn't more commonly, blend the both together and make a third result, which he feared was about to transpire.

flapping a feathered fan to keep the heat at bay during his frustration, Dragora clapped eyes on the accessory and how the hunk of perfumed meat looked practically regal with it.

"very well then Lord Varys!"

Throwing herself up onto her feet, Dragora pinched the ornate thing out of his fingers and mimicked those self-righteous flutters, as she turned on her heel and beheld the shaking captive once more.

"I shall try and channel my inner Lady."

Dragora smiled, but it was that signature smile of hers that showed off nearly every tooth in her head, and was more sinister than comforting.

The man in chains shuddered as if he were under the scrutiny of a carnivorous beast, and he followed her as she paced the iron thrones platform, keeping that fan going.

"so," she finally said, "what have you done?"

She asked him in a sing-songy tone, taunting him like he was a naughty child rather than a criminal, and he cowered between his shoulders, since it was more nerve racking than had she been more authoritative, but the Lannister guards forced his head back to where Dragora was, and it left his throat awfully exposed.

Talking through his helm, Dragora wondered what it was about Westeros and these sodding helmets that made it impossible to tell who she was killing. It wasn't like that across the narrow sea. There, it was all about the freedom to move with great flexibility and to have no need of protection as you were forced to avoid being cut, when all there stood between you and a sword was your bare skin. That was how the Dothraki did things, which made training with them a bitch when Dragora was a child, and she came across them in her efforts to survive, but the results could not be beaten, so when she really fought, you would find that Dragora did not wear much to cover her flesh.

"this man refuses to deliver the hospitality we are owed as Lannister men."

"it's an insult to the queen herself!"

Judging by their voices, these were a young and arrogant sorts, who thought their trousers were worth changing every time they farted, and their attitude also made Varys groan with disdain, as their insulter spoke out desperately in appeal to Dragora.

"please your grace! I refused these men from taking my daughter's virtue, that's all!"

the guards attempted to silence him, but he needed his story to be heard in order to plea for his life, when he was the sole wage earner in his household of six children, who would surely starve without him.

"Please," tears washed his dirty cheeks clean, "I swear to you, that is all!"

As his crying intensified, Dragora had snapped the fan shut, and kept it level with her head for a moment longer; her eyes exasperated and large, possibly burning with the air getting at them as she refused to blink, though you would never tell, and she kept them that way, as people started to become uneasy.

Suddenly, without warning, her limbs sprung down the platforms steps like an alley cat, causing people to gasp, and she crouched low where this devoted father was making his case.

Thin, you could see every bone almost as his leathery skin tried hard to cling on, when it had long ago lost its youth, if it was ever there at all, and she snatched his bound hands to turn them palms facing upwards.

Filthy and rough, he was a hard worker, and it validated his claim for Dragora, because had he not cared for his children, he might be fatter. His skin not as burnt as he sent them out to work in his stead, while his breath possibly foul from living at a tavern.

However, she would take the word of a back alley whore over a Lannister's, so you could say she might be a little biased in her opinion.

"That is all, huh?" she repeated, but the man did not reply, losing faith things would fall favourably for him, since the likes of him never received much justice. Nevertheless, Dragora had given Varys her word, to try and take things more seriously and she straightened her back.

"so," she acknowledged next the smug guards, "you brought him here…because he disrespected you?"

Stupidly, they nodded and Dragora could see just enough of their mouths to watch as they uplifted into grins, and she cried 'fuck!' letting it hang in the air, as she clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

The captive's hair was that way a corpses became; dry, receding and lacking lustre. He won't last long in this world, with one foot already in the grave, though he'll probably never have even a ditch to call his own. So if Dragora spared him now, it would make little difference to his cause of surviving for the benefit of his family, when at least if he got chopped a head shorter here, there were people who had the responsibility of disposing his body, sparing his children of the effort.

However, that would please the Lannister guards, too much.

And Dragora fucking hated Lannister guards, on top of everyone else in her long list.

Smacking her knees, she stood up and circled around the trio, unable to help herself from fluttering that fan again.

Like a butterfly's wing, pale pink with filigree, painted in the daintiest way, it did not suit the killers signature attire, that hadn't changed since she had arrived at the red keep.

Gold bones against black leather.

Many have said, that if she added a cloak, Dragora could easily pass as one of the seven gods, The Stranger, to which she would always laugh at and say:

 _'_ _you've obviously never met my father.'_

Which never failed to make the person shiver, to think someone might be worse than she.

But then again…anyone with the name Alvah is hardly going to make you radiate with warmth.

"Do you know the story of how I came to be in the Red Keep?" Dragora asked the man, while she still circled around them like a vulture.

With his sunken eyes shut, his thin lips were puckered to let him stutter out his answer, that everyone knew.

"you attacked Lannister guards."

Dragora petted his scraggly head, sighing "indeed I did," at the fond memory, choosing to elaborate on it a bit more, and loudly for all to hear.

"It might have been that such an action, 'an insult to the queen herself' as your captors put it, would have been my death sentence; one of many I have had, and truth be told I will need to live a dozen more lifetimes to pay them off, but instead; it wasn't **my** execution the people gathered to watch."

At that part, Dragora could not resist looking up to see if the guards still wore those grins.

And indeed; they did not.

"apparently, Trevor and Gordon, by being beaten, had consequently proven themselves inadequate in being capable of fulfilling their duties to protect the royal family, so while they kneeled down before the block, whimpering to their bloody mothers, it was I who did the deed, and became their executioner. And perhaps history shall repeat itself with these two sods. I mean really, coming to a woman when you weren't allowed to rape one. Did you think things were going to go easy for you?"

Like cowards they backed away, to allow the man to drop with a thud down on the floor, and he squirmed off to the side, where the nobles avoided any chance he might brush against their skirts, though they were keen to watch Dragora's work.

"so;" she spared a cheeky glance up to Varys who had his fat fingers, keeping his defeated expression risen, as if it was for him to choose, "who exactly is first."

Saving her sword, Dragora rushed at them while they could only raise their hands up in defence and booted the first right in the face, to knock him back, and took the others arm to snap upwards with enough pressure so that it could snap.

The screams were music to her hears and she moaned with ecstasy, keeping the broken arm bent until a protrusion beneath the skin threatened to burst out, while the other guard gripping his nose, watched on, dreading what Dragora will do when she was finished with his friend.

True, she'd only just started, but a voice from the halls door, cut short her fun.

"Dragora!"

With a murmur, the nobles parted to allow for a lion to come forward, wearing an insufferable smoulder as he flourished back his yellow mane, prettily emanating a light off his Kingsguard armour, that turned Dragora's stomach, when he demanded still to be called a man, when if she cut Cersei's hair to match his, there'd be little difference between them.

Perhaps that's why they fucked each other, as it would then be like fucking their reflection, since they adored themselves as much to do so.

"-have you a habit of attacking Lannister men?"

Dragora still had in a painful position such a man as Jaime referred to and she deliberately added more pressure to his arm again, making him yowl.

"then word to the wise, and don't let them be complete and utter dicks."

Yet more pressure, and that did it.

The daughter of house Alvah released one of the queen's men, only after the terrible sound of bone tearing through flesh made a couple more people in the crowd squeal, and the guard himself fall limp, after passing out from the severe pain, and Dragora tutted at the blood slowly leaking through his chainmail and shirt's sleeve.

She pointed at the building crimson pool, while rocking on her feet as she often did, "you might want to get that cleaned up."

With distaste, Jaime scrunched up his nose, that was as straight as an arrow, "hmm, well how about we try and pretend you've done a good job while the king and queen have been gone, shall we; so you can go back to doing…whatever is you do usually."

after shaking away that need she had of breaking sir Jaime's straight nose, Dragora groaned, "I take it their back then."

Jaime didn't have the chance to answer, when Vary's popped up at the side of the two, and stepped over the bleeding lump on the floor as if he wasn't there.

"oh with the new Hand I hope! The small council does so need a meeting."

Jaime's green eyes twinkled, "perfect! Dragora can pass the word along to him then, while I take care of her mess here…on you go my Lady."

Dragora snarled, daring the precious Lordling to come up with a better insult besides calling her 'lady' and bowed mockingly low at him.

"as you ask."

Before she left, however, Dragora eyed the guard who she had kicked, and made a point of finishing him off, when she grabbed his head unexpectedly, and slammed her own into his.

Some blood now marred her face, as there came to be a second man down, and Dragora maintained her uplifted shoulders, in a shrug, as Jaime narrowed his gaze at her.

"I slipped," she claimed in defence, and started cackling all the way out to where the Starks were rolling in, outside the gates.

….

With the Direwolf banner flapping in the wind, Dragora could hardly mistake this oncoming company for anyone else, which always saved from an awkward encounter she supposed; that being Westeros many perks, with its obsession concerning identities and names.

Seven hells, Dragora didn't even have a name until two years ago, and she couldn't say that it had ever bothered her to go without one, but then again, from the age of five onwards, she did have bigger concerns to worry about, besides what people called her, like when or where her next meal was going to come from.

Annoyingly, Dragora was sat crossed legged at the centre of the entranceway, making people go around her, while they carried heavy trunks and such, and under a trance, it wasn't until a figure loomed above her that decided to return to reality, and not linger too long within her mind.

"who are ya?"

Now that was a thick northern accent.

Still seated in the dust, he wasn't that richly decorated either, and leaned more towards the practical sides of things, meaning leather and linen were the basics of his attire, while his dark hair was scrapped back off his stern and grim face.

Removing his riding gloves, Dragora took one last gander at the man, and then asked, "Eddard stark?"

To which a firm nod was her reply.

Smacking her knees, she shot up and confused on what to do next, inclined her head slightly, "well you took your time; I'm supposed to show you, how to get from here to up there."

Turning to signal behind her, the Tower of the Hand was visible after you squinted to lessen the sun's vibrancy, and she began walking off, without the Lord following after her.

Dragora unwillingly waved again on her feet, having gone to long without more wine, and was desperate to have some.

She flurried her hand at the things that stuck out at the ends of his legs, "do I need to show you how to work your feet now too?"

Altogether, she wasn't in the best of moods, and the Stark lord did that usual thing where those who first met her, are very suspicious.

Which it was a good thing, to be suspicious, but then again; she was the last person he should have to worry about.

"Na, my feet work just fine, but I'd like to know who you are?"

There was something of a warning behind his words, and Dragora actually found it admirable, when from anyone else, it would have been more borderline hysterical.

Wiping the dirt off her hands, she strode back to him, and stuck one out, "Dragora, of house Alvah."

The man looked a little taken aback, and he looked back at one of his men, who had overheard, and was standing next to a cart carrying a bloody septa and two young girls.

"House Alvah," he repeated, "that's a northern house."

Dragora was bored already, "yep, so it is; so I won't be slitting your throat any time soon, my liege Lord, so will we be going now?"

He lingered some in deliberation of whether he should, and then eventually, Eddard Stark threw over his shoulder some orders to be carried out concerning his daughters. A pretty redhead, and one who looked like she was a right troublemaker, until finally he was satisfied, to follow where Dragora led.

Wandering down a corridor that looked much the same as all the rest, if Dragora was drunk the journey to the tower would be an easier one, but she wasn't, and had to guess most of the time on which way to go, which was a right bother, when Lord stark thought he was obliged to fill the silence.

"have you been here long?"

Dragora waited to find the energy to answer, and puffed out her cheeks, to make an obscene sound.

"a year; maybe less."

They came around a corner, that she paused to ponder over and then came back the way she came, deciding she must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, and surprisingly, the Lord she towed with her, made no complaint.

"kings landing, was not where I was referring to. I meant Westeros in general."

It was fortunate that Dragora had reminded herself while waiting on the new hand, of the answer and she replied, "two years," rather bluntly.

"your father resides in lands that I am warden of, and yet he does keep to his own code-"

Dragora said nothing since she was living proof that was true, for who else kept their numerous bastard children locked in a cell, until by their fifth year he ships them off to some other land, to see if they can survive, separated and alone.

Most die during the voyage, others from starvation, or murder, then there are those who die while training themselves in combat, as were one of the conditions that were made before they could return to Westeros.

If you could do all that, with the bones of your first kill still on your person, by twenty years later, only then can you be legitimised, if of course you pass the final test, when an arrow is suddenly fired your way to catch.

Obviously, Dragora had survived everything her father had forced her to endure, and strangely she didn't hate the old man in the least, when his father, her grandfather, had done the same with him, and on and on the cycle went and will probably go.

However, there are others who do not condone house Alvah's cruel traditions concerning how it deems among its children, who are worthy of carrying the name, besides just mere blood ties.

Lord Eddard being just one of them.

"-and I can do little to stop him."

Dragora sniggered _, 'no you cannot.'_

"will you do things any different compared to your ancestors?"

Dragora abruptly came to a stop at the question, "you mean, will I send my children off to seas and to their deaths possibly, if they are weak?"

Eddard Stark didn't fear to cause Dragora insult, and she saw that he believed it his right to know, which she supposed it was in some sense, but she was truly impressed now that he had the gall to ask.

"well why would that choice fall on my shoulders?"

His eyes betrayed some confusion, when his face didn't let on.

"I have a brother, and as my fathers legitimised son, he is now of course his heir, and that responsibility whether to uphold or dash aside our family's tradition, is now his; While I'm free to do as I choose. So if you do have any complaints, I suggest you take them up with him personally."

At that, a staircase appeared at the end of yet another corridor.

"enjoy your meeting, Lord Stark."

And Dragora went in search of that wine she had been hankering after, having spoken of her House; too much.


End file.
